I'll Be Your Santa Tonight - Rebecca Sharp Page 0,2

room and along the walls, all topped with golden edifices. The walls, broken up by the columns into arched sections, were painted a purple that bespoke royalty and held the grandest gold mirrors that took my breath away.

The space was the epitome of refined, old-world elegance.

And soon, it would be covered in Christmas.

My eyes took in the people milling about the space. Guests on their way outside to explore the city. Visitors taking in the luxurious lobby like I was. And hotel staff at every corner with a smile on their face and genuine cheer in their eyes.

I hoped I would be as happy working here as they were.

Plush furniture congregated in the center of the space, a few guests reclining on the chairs and couches directly in front of me. Beyond those was where I would be working—creating the life-size confection.

I took a deep breath, the scent of the hotel—because the fancy ones always had scents—almost masked by the subtle but unmistakable aroma of nutmeg and cinnamon.

Gingerbread.

My gaze snagged on the floating sleigh near the back of the room. The balloons congregated toward the ceiling as the ties converged underneath a box on one of the chairs. Whoever’s Christmas party it was for had certainly gone all out.

As quickly as my gaze jerked from the sour reminder of the season, it caught on a man in the far corner of the space—his presence like a bright spark demanding my attention.

Even from a distance, I could see every blonde hair on his head was sculpted into place. Defined cheekbones cut out from underneath a stare that, even though it wasn’t trained on me, was captivating. My eyes drifted, searching for more. My breath swelled in my chest, watching his carved lips, which rested on a prominent chin and squared jawline, spread and revealed a brilliant smile as he spoke to two other men, all of them clad in well-tailored suits.

I didn’t normally stop to gape at men.

But this was different.

He wasn’t so much a man as a perfectly proportioned specimen. The geometry of his face—the angles and shapes and their composition together—rivaled the best the Greeks could do with their Golden Proportions… especially among all these columns.

Just like the interior of the hotel had stunned me, I stood in appreciation of the anatomical architecture of his face. And I ignored the warm sensation that filled the bottom of my stomach before seeping lower—and burning hotter.

Shaking my head away, I tightened my hold on my suitcase and headed to the right toward the front desk.

“Hello! Welcome to the Fairmont San Francisco,” the young, bubbly brunette beamed at me from behind the desk. Her hair pulled back in a neat ponytail and bright white teeth gleaming between rich red lips. “How can I help you?”

My eyes glanced at her nametag—Noelle. I grimaced. Lucky her.

“Hi, I’m checking in. Holly Jolly.”

Her fingers moving across the computer keys halted. Lifting my eyes from my wallet, I met her obligatory gaze of surprise.

“Another Christmas-nomer!” she exclaimed, pointing to her nametag. “I’m Noelle, though Fritz—my last name—isn’t that Christmas-y.”

Her head wobbled like one of those big-eyed, bobble-head dolls as she spoke.

“Christmas-nomer?” Meanwhile, I was stuck on her made-up word.

“Yeah.” She grinned. “Like Christmas and misnomer, since it’s a name meant for the holiday but is really just a name.”

More like a name that implied a Yuletide love which didn’t exist.

At least for me.

“I see,” I replied, staying as pleasant as my travel-weary body could.

“Okay, so I have your room right here…” She trailed off, tipping her head and clicking around the screen, obviously confused and in search of something. “One moment…” Her eyes scanned over the information and then, like a key, whatever she puzzled over finally clicked and she squealed, “Oh my Christmas! You’re the pastry chef!”

Her smile was contagious, and I found myself laughing. “That’s me.”

“Oh jolly Jesus. How did I not realize?” She pressed a hand to her chest and shook her head.

This girl had more holiday exclamations than Santa himself.

“Okay, I’m going to get you all checked in here and give you your room keys in a minute. I just saw Mr. Nicholsen in the lobby, let me just see if he’s still there and—oh, no. It looks like he’s gone already. That’s alright,” she rambled gleefully. “I have a sheet right here with all sorts of important information for you. I’ll certainly let Mr. Nicholsen know you’re here, but I’m sure he’ll want you to join us for our First Day of